Smoking Darts, Breaking Hearts

the hill looks over the town
well wishers and suicides drink
the image of a landmass once empty
then full—
now somehow deflated,
riding the boom and bust
in our car feathers once used
for flying
hang softly, mechanically from
a pentacle catching images,
dust-covered dreams come and gone
across the days and nights of the town

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio



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